Wednesday, May 17
There were some strong thunderstorms overnight, and some weird lights focused on our windows, though we couldn’t place the lights in the early morning. Spartanburg was a bit of a strange place. We were definitely in the middle of an Interstate and railroad track (and UFO?) nexus. Train whistles sounded in the distance throughout the stormy night.
But the funny thing is that we had a good night sleep and we kinda liked the hotel. Mixed reviews of course, but good privacy, a cheery place, and good breakfast. We also liked the fact that they had the community rules (it was a “residence inn” after all) spelled out on the table when we went in. None of them applied to us of course.
OK, it was going to start off as another driving day. We were in the Northwest part of South Carolina (which is a surprisingly big state) and were bound for the center of it. We were going to Congaree National Park, which is a bit South of the capital, Columbia. Drove Southeast for a couple of hours from Spartanburg and exited Interstate 77 West of Columbia, onto route 48.
I’ve referred before to my itch to get out on the roads in the middle of America and cruise way down them and see what was there. South of Columbia was exactly what I wanted. The road was pretty straight and well-maintained and the houses were spaced apart well and all looked lived in if not loved. We saw a lot of brick, one-floor layouts in our trip, and most of them were in pretty good shape. Sometimes you’d see wood shacks that were returning to the earth, but mostly if there was a house it was occupied. Though South Carolina is “solid red” according to the news media, we saw very few indications as to political preference. Thought we’d see a few school committee signs at least, but it was just lawns in various shapes, pickups (and maybe some dead vehicles) in every yard, lots of speed limit and school district signs, and dollar stores. Sarah and I couldn’t believe that so few farms and villages supported so many schools.
We were far from the mountains now, on flat, flat roads that wound between high vegetation. Eventually we saw a few signs for Congaree NP and pulled in. We’d arrived at a weird time for the NP. Synchronous fireflies (not making this up) assemble there in late May and this phenomenon took top priority at the Park, fireflies more important than visitors. But we were free to explore until 4PM, which we did.
We started at the Hampton VC (the only one, it’s a small Park) and they have a great film, which stoked our enthusiasm. They also have some great displays there. One we loved showed an array of trees you find in the Park, facts about them and specs on the champions in each category.
Congaree is basically a swamp, a huge floodplain in which water levels can vary by six feet. It’s on the long plains that extend from the base of the mountains we were just in to the Atlantic, and host slow-moving rivers that become the big port rivers of South Carolina and Georgia. A timber baron from Chicago bought the whole area after the Civil War, but for various reasons didn’t clearcut it, and his descendants kind of forgot about the place. It was eventually saved by locals such as newspaperman Harry Hampton, who realized that it had become one of the largest stands of old-growth trees left in the East and lobbied for its preservation.
It was an overcast, hot and humid day when we got there, and we loved Congaree in spite of this. They had a “mosquito meter,” but it was laughable. They think a couple of mosquitos warrants a high alert level? They should see the woods of New England. A volunteer talked to us as soon as we arrived and laid out our options for a hike. The funny thing was when I asked about “feral hogs” he thought I said “hawks” and much confusion ensued. Yeah, he admitted that feral pigs were a problem there but that they were generally not far descended from domestic stock and they took off at the sight/sound of humans.
After the great film, some exhibit time, and a nice talk with the Ranger and book store person, we took off for the Boardwalk Loop Trail (you have to start on that) and then decamped to the Sims Trail as soon as we could, on a very low dike cut through the forest, very gently downhill towards the Congaree River. We were surrounded by Swamp Tupelos, Bald Cypresses, Loblolly Pines, and many species of oak, ash, and beech. For many of these species there is a Champion Tree in Congaree, the most majestic specimen of that type, calculated by formulae that take into consideration height, mass, girth, spread of canopy, etc. It didn’t take many “will you look at that?” trees for us to walk a little slower and realize we were in a hall of ancients.
Besides the living trees, there was switch cane and rhododendron bushes, vines, and some huge bushes of honeysuckle and other ground cover in the spaces left by dead trees. But basically it was thousands of huge, magical, venerable, and dirty trees popping up from the mud, clay, and sand. We were a little surprised how many people were out on the trails, but for a change we let them all pass us by as we wandered along, stunned and delighted by the giants. The Bald Cypresses rose up and up and then exploded into crowns of delicate needles. There were plenty of fallen trees as well as living ones, with bark etched by worms, some trees sprouting fungi we’d never seen before.
There was a cultural aspect to the Park too. Groups of escaped enslaved people formed communities in the South Carolina swamps, where slave catchers would have to put up with some hostility from nature to catch them. We were blessed that day to hear and see many species of birds, lots of colorful skinks running up and down the infrastructure of the boardwalk, and to see a ring-tailed raccoon, meandering along one of the guts (ephemeral creeks). And you have to see cypress knees or you will not believe them.
From the Sims Trail we took a left on the Weston Lake Trail, which ran along Cedar Creek, which in some place was moving but in others seemed to us to just be sitting there. There isn’t much vertical drop to excite the water around there, except when it really backs up and covers the boardwalk and trails. The funny thing is that there is some elevation change and you can tell it by the underbrush, which changes a lot with just a vertical foot’s difference. There were also lots of pellets of debris probably from owls, mounds of mud made by insects, and animal holes. Probably not a great place to camp; we didn’t see any snakes but knew they were close by.
A couple of even lazier guts ran into the creek, and these are reconfigured with each flood. When the area floods the water level can rise by up to six feet and we could see rings on the trees that high. Foot bridges had been built here and there over the wettest places, and after one we took a detour down a social trail to the right that the Ranger had told us about. She said the current Champion Loblolly Pine was down there and when we found it, it was majestic. We came pretty close to hugging a few trees that day, they welcomed us to their swamp and we felt blessed.
Looped back around to a short stretch of the boardwalk trail, and then rejoined the Sims Trail up to the Firefly Trail to return to the Harry Hampton VC. In all we did about a 6 mile circuit and though it had been very level, the temperature and humidity were both getting up there and we were very glad to pop back into the air-conditioned VC for a bit.
Back out to the car after that and they had a nest of nice picnic tables in the shade, totally deserted. We grabbed one and had a very late and mellow PB&J lunch. There was a hard stop at 4:00 for all visitors so they wouldn’t disturb the gathering synchronous fireflies, and the Park started to close down by 3:45 or so, just as we were ready to leave. One of the best things about small, modest, beautiful Parks like this is knowing you’re coming back, and we were definitely going back there the next day!
Horrible news reached us as we continued East on route 48 in Gadsden, and then South on 601. Our nephew had died in a household accident and we realized we wouldn’t be able to get back up North in time for his funeral.
More middle of nowhere in South Carolina, heading down to the SpringHill Suites by Marriott in Orangeburg. Congaree is so remote that the nearest hotels are back North in Columbia or 40 miles South, just North of Orangeburg, and we opted for the smaller town. We lucked out on a great dinner place, going to Rosalía’s right in the middle of Orangeburg, as far South as we got on the trip. Sarah had a house margarita and I got a huge mug of Dos Equis and their House Special, a 10-ounce ribeye steak with six shrimp. I probably ate less than half of it and Sarah couldn’t finish her dinner either, so we took out a huge thing of meat, rice, and beans, which we made good use of later.
Back to the second floor of the SpringHill Suites and soon to bed, after traveling 186.1 miles that day.
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